Daniel
by wjeffbishop
Summary: Winner of the 2015 Galacticon 4 Fan Fiction competition, "Daniel" brings the "Battlestar Galactica" mythos into the present day, exploring the fate of the mysterious lost Cylon. "Fans were obsessing about Daniel … I started thinking, 'Slow down, people …'" -Ronald D. Moore. "A must read. Absolutely terrific." - Aaron Douglas, "Chief" on BSG.
1. Prologue

**"The Daniel thing** is going to be one of the great fiascos of the show… I started picking up all this stuff about how fans were obsessing about Daniel … I started thinking, "Oh shit, slow down people …this was gathering such momentum, I didn't want people to be going into the finale and really be waiting for the Daniel shoe to drop … I kind of feel bad about that."

-Ronald D. Moore

 _"…_ _Dodath scenn toscen todaig rogarg fiss goibnen aird goibnenn renaird goibnenn, ceingeth ass."_

-Harl 5280, the St. Gall Codex

Hadrian's Wall, 138 A.D.

Bone against bone, he never thought he'd get used to that sound. Live long enough, you get used to anything. Except maybe the stench of the battlefield.

Goibniu punched the reddened steel through the corpse's ribcage. Couldn't afford to let a good blade go to waste – especially a Roman Gladius. Goibniu pressed his leathery, scarred finger to the point of the blade. Solid craftsmanship, he observed – this one even had an ivory hilt - but no real art to it, no imagination. Cold and efficient, like all Roman work. Still, one couldn't deny that it did its job. A perfect circle of syrupy red plumed from Goibniu's fingertip. He massaged the sticky warmth over his finger with his thumb.

"Good work, Goibniu. Your blade was true!" The young, tousled tribesman hoisted his Celtic sword in the air and showed off his spoils: a bag of Roman coins, a javelin, two horses, a shield, and a Gallic wench.

"Send me some of your meadowsweet ale later tonight and we'll raise a proper toast and farewell to the Roman Second, Sixth, and Twentieth Legions!" An obnoxious giggle capped off the young man's proclamation. Goibniu nodded. He couldn't help smiling at the brash braggart. Probably be dead within the week.

"I've got something special, with a bit of heather, myrtle, and broom," said Goibniu. "From barley at Skara Brae."

"Bring it and I'll add another tattoo," the boy snorted. His mates cheered their approval.

"You'll run out of room there."

"Why is that?"

"Your arms are too small."

Some of the men howled their appreciation for the snipe, while other stood in shocked silence, anticipating the young soldier's reply. He fumbled a bit, wheels turning in his thick head.

"We can't all be fat like Goibniu!" the boy retorted at last, thumping Goibniu on the back and pulling his red-headed captive in for a kiss. She recoiled and shut her eyes, pushing the soldier away.

"But he forges strong blades for us and gives us even stronger ale," answered Goibniu. "Let the old fat man be." That got a growly laugh from the boys, raising their invisible cups in a mock toast.

"And let her be, too," he said, motioning to the girl.

A silence suddenly fell upon the battlefield. The boy exhaled an uncomfortable laugh, that same high-pitched squeal Goibniu loathed.

"You think my ale comes free, boy?" Goibniu stated in a flat, serious, carefully parsed cadence. "The wench for the beer."

A few moments of tense silence followed as the two men glared at one another in the muck. Finally the young man pushed the woman down into the mud.

"What do I care for her? She's an ugly foreigner, anyway. Take her." He put his finger and face an inch from Goibniu's. "But that ale had better be strong, old man."

Goibniu grimaced and helped the girl up, covering her naked breasts with his armor. He wanted to tell her he was bringing her somewhere safe, but he didn't speak her language. He gently patted her pale shoulders– that's when he saw blood and realized it was coming from his hand. Goibniu wiped his fingers against his pouch. How much blood had he spilled? Those deaths he was directly responsible for, yes, there were so many that he'd lost count centuries ago. Most of those bastards deserved what they got. But desserts aside, how much blood had spasmed from the hearts and necks of those poor boys? Add to that the women, the children… all whose misfortune found them on the business end of one of the thousands of blades he had forged in his fiery furnace.

The Exercitus deserved it, of course, there was no doubting that. They were cutting off the Picti from their own lands, brother from brother, herder from livestock, lover from betrothed. Emperor Hadrian's godsdamned wall, stretching from sea to sea now, from the Tyne to the Firth, or nearly. How had the Picts let it come this far? They'd lost so many good men trying to stop it, and for what? Even today's rare victory was a hollow one. It was too late. The wall was nearly complete.

Goibniu saw one of the bastards still crawling through the muck out of the corner of his eye. He marched in closer to the Legionnaire and readied his sword. Live, die, did it matter? Everyone checked out, eventually.

 _"_ _Exspecto! Exspecto…"_

Even the most handsome and hearty, golden and full of life, brave and beloved by many, turned to dust, condemned to being forever forgotten. How many thousands had he lost and erased from his memory? And this one? He wasn't even handsome. Not worth remembering. Old, bald. Useless.

 _"_ _Amicus…"_

Missing an eye. Disgusting. Goibniu steadied himself. _Generation after generation after generation. So many corpses._ What was one more?

 _"_ _Vos teneo mihi_ _!"_

So many lovers, friends, brothers, whose faces he could no longer remember, much less their names. Even those he had vowed never to forget. Wiped from his mind just like they had been eraseed from this Earth, forever. He hoisted the blade.

"Chief!"

The old man's voice was weak now, dream-like, but no longer muttering Latin. This was an altogether different language. One that Goibniu had not heard spoken for a long, long time. One that he thought long extinct.

"What's that? What did you say?"

"You're the Chief."

The old man smiled and laughed. It was a hearty, almost maniacal laugh, certainly not the laugh of a dying man.

Goibniu lowered his weapon and dropped suddenly to his knees. He smelled alcohol on the old man's breath. Roman wine. He knew this man. How many centuries had it been? He had stopped counting long ago.

"I thought—"

"You thought you were the only one," said the old one-eyed man. "You thought you were alone."

Goibniu tried to hold back the tears. It was useless.

" _To non es solus,_ Galen," said the old man, patting Goibniu on the forearm and closing his only eye. " _Vos nec fuerunt umquam."_

That was it. Goibniu's true name, unspoken for countless millennia.

He was still Goibniu of the Pictii, certainly. But he was also something else. He was Galen Tyrol, chief petty officer of the Battlestar Galactica.


	2. Chapter 1

1

Daniel's dad called it a bob. This one was painted red, a sharp contrast against the inky black of Lake Leonis. The bob settled into a rhythmic back and forth, riding the water's starry surface, a red rambler along the reflected night sky. Daniel remembered reading somewhere that originally there were only two colors: red and black, a shaky duality in tenuous tension as they danced to something like music in those days, only two notes, Sound and Not-Sound, everything and nothing. The other colors and notes may have existed, must have, if things could be said to exist before there were names for them, before being perceived. A power in naming something, Daniel reflected. Adam's power. The un-named, under-conceptualized thing is "un-red," Other, a kind of pregnant potentiality, waiting to be sorted, commanded, notated, boxed.

Something simple and true about that bob floating out there on that vast expanse of black water, something pretentiously mythological, Daniel thought as he watched his father on the dock. The line between the surface conscious, moon-kissed, bathed and blessed in the open starlight, and that vast, murky, unfathomable unconscious underneath, and between them this tenuous, bobbing interface, strung all together with the thinnest of filament. What was his father fishing for? What was he doing out here on this dock, anyway? He didn't even like fish, right? Complained about the smell, about his time spent on that lonely island, way back when. So unreal.

Daniel remembered reading somewhere that one of the problems of artificial intelligence was to get the computer to understand what is significant in a picture. It's what made the development of facial recognition software such a bitch. Human consciousness takes shortcuts, filters, reduces to that which signifies meaning, to what is human. We just know these things, we are born knowing them, biological algorithm. Pictured here are the black lake, the red floater. All just information, 1s and 0s, light and shadow, visual noise, interplay. The human knows that the bob is significant, what is to be focused on, the scout of our desire. In time, it will alert the fisherman of the catch on the other end of the line, which may be reeled in and consumed for fuel. The bob, the water, two names, a perceived separation. To the computer, it's all a wash, a dumb frolic. Things bob, colors move, wakes waft, but there's no significance felt, no visceral tension, no real duality, no hunger. What's a computer want with a fucking fish? Almost perfectly Hindu, in that sense – All is One. _Aum._ The value must be defined, assigned, designated "Not Bob," beginning of line, end of line.

Someone once said that what was most frightening about the prospect of intelligent machines is that they had no human-centered sense of moral value, Daniel recalled… _lifted up from the ground and made to stand on two feet like a man, and the mind of a man was given to it_ …Some punk had mused, what if a hyperintelligent machine were programmed to believe that the highest value in the universe is to produce paper clips? The whole planet would become nothing more than raw material for the purpose of paper clip production. The marble of the Parthenon, the wooden frame of the Mona Lisa, human bone. Equivalence. Data. Chum. There is absolutely no reason to believe that machines will value what humans value. Thank God, Daniel thought, that Artificial Intelligence is, that The Singularity is, that the Existential Threat is, by those best qualified to know such things, still (at best) decades away. Maybe there is still time to adjust the programming, to tweak the knobs. We have the power of foresight, of looking back on our own history. What has happened before need not happen again. Correct?

Maybe that's why his father, Galen, was out fishing today. Like his son, he tended to over-think things, strip them down to the deck and build them back up again. But this, this was a simple pleasure for a sunny day. Fishing. Smelly, sensual, kinesthetic. Pitch the bob into the water. Watch the bob go up and down. Feel the tension, hook the fish, reel it in. Put the gooey thing in the basket. Repeat. A real brain cleanse. Only there had been no fish tonight, no movement at all. Galen grew tired of watching the cork and began to notice other things, like the small flock of geese that flew over, in perfect formation, heading straight into the sun. He stroked his graying beard and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember something. The geese called out, but they were far away now.

When Galen opened his eyes again – how long had it been? Daniel did not know – the bob was gone, snapped into the abyss. Galen took up his fishing pole as the line pulled taut, then down, weighted, heavy and motionless.

Galen spotted a shadow in the water. He shuffled to the edge of the dock and peered into the vortex.

Something down there, all right. Something big.

It's human, Galen decided, mouth agape like a fish. _There's a body down there._

The pole snapped. No thinking, no time for that. Galen jumped.


	3. Chapter 2

2

All frigid wetness, tangles in the filament, no breath, no air. No words. Except…

"Are you alive?"

A greybeard man. A fatherly hand. _His sleep went from him._

"Daniel! Are you all right?"

Somewhere the crimson bobfloat rises to the surface .

Breath pulls in, pushes out, in again.

"Another dream?"

Tell me, his father insists. Describe to me. Show. Demonstrate. Narrate.

"I don't know. I don't remember. You were fishing, I think. I was under the water."

"What color was the water?"

"What color? You want to know the- I couldn't breathe."

"Was it day or night?"

"Night, I think. I don't know. I couldn't breathe, I said. You pulled me out."

"The water, was it fresh or, or – was it briny, like salt water?"

"I couldn't breathe! Are you even listening to me?"

"I'm listening, Daniel. I'm listening. What did you see?"

"Nothing! I told you."

"What did you see?"

"Why do you keep asking me that? Just what I said."

"Go back."

"I saw—"

"Yes?"

"I didn't—"

"What!"

"I saw in my vision by night - the four winds of the heaven strove upon the great sea. A-a-a seascape portrait of –"

"Portrait of what?"

"—a woman child, cavern of the soul…"

"A woman child? What woman?"

"I don't know. I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm just – it's just shit, whatever. What are you doing? What is this?"

With that, Galen relents, eases the lever.

"I'm sorry, all right? These things are important. I'm trying to help you get better."

"No you're not. That's not what this is."

"So you know what this is, then?"

"I know. I know I need a doctor. Why won't you let me see a doctor?"

"Who said I wouldn't? Let's go see the frakking doctor. I'd be curious, myself."

"No more pills. They're just dreams."

"No they're not. You know that."

"I'm the one who told you."

"We write it down."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I just don't-"

"But why not?"

"I don't need to remember them. _I need to forget them."_

"That's not what you-"

"No more pills! How do you know what I need, Dad? You don't know. You aren't having this."

Galen looks into Daniel's eyes, then to the sunbaked, pizza-colored carpet. He stands. He hovers.

"You don't know everything about me, either, Daniel."

"Because you never tell me anything."

Galen was too smart to take the bait. He'd lived too long. He knew all the tricks.

"What do you want to know?"

Daniel shakes his head and pushes out a harsh, single-note laugh.

"Nothing."

Galen nods, then he walks out, closing the door carefully, quietly. He leaves the pills on the table by the door.

Daniel presses his palms into his eye sockets. He throws his head back into his pillow and feels through the sheets for his phone. Six missed messages. Six.

"Shit."


	4. Chapter 3

3

There were only three moving parts in the engine of Daniel's 1980 Yamaha MX 175. Easy enough to understand and maintain, a simple and likeable machine, not a turkey at all, in spite of its unseemly blue smoke and two-stroke oil stink. Cassie was a bit more complex. Some days she was unfathomable. Six missed messages was never a good sign. On the last two, her tone was callous, a bit imperious. Daniel had to touch base. He adjusted his silver chrome Masei 815 helmet and twisted a black-gloved hand around the throttle. _Nnnnnnnrrrrrrnnnnnnnnrrrrrrnnnnn!_ Fuck EPA emission standards. This old bird was meant to fly, _his wheels as burning fire._

It was good to get away. Away from his father, always watching him, always hovering, trying to fix him, like he fixed the Yamaha, like he fixed everything. _Maybe I don't want to be fixed. Maybe I don't need to be. Maybe I'm perfect, just as I am._

He didn't really buy that. Daniel knew he was fucked up in some serious ways. His father was only trying to help him. At least that's what he wanted to believe. But there was a brooding darkness there, a slow descent into the pit. Cassie was the light. Well she was a blond nursing student, anyway, and a sizzling fuck. It was in her nature to be a beacon of aid and consolation, right? Daniel hated that he was so weak as to need her. His father had made him this way, he was sure of it. Damn, he hated being a whiny-ass bitch. _Just put your hand on the throttle and feel the rumble of the road as it passes under you, man. Ride it 'till your hands go numb._ Not so difficult on these old two-stroke bikes. His father had a thing for bringing life to old machines. But ancient was ancient. The headlight dimmed as Daniel put on the brake to round the corner to the lake. Damn these six-volt electrics. At least she'd know it was him.


	5. Chapter 4

4

Overnight someone left crickets here, and the ant colony soon found them. With their sleek mandibles they burrowed into the soft bellies of the fishbait. The arthropods kicked their massive hind quarters akimbo, surrendering into some deep, distant place with their blank eyes. Cassie watched the ants penetrate, an efficiently bloodless affair, an orderly march carrying on into the green, mesh cricket cage, a single file following some program, some quiet machination.

And then comes this Other, all dressed in red, _clump, clump, clump_ , knocking about the wooden plank aisle of the dock, in an empty march not unlike the ants. Out of gas, she expected, and more than likely about to drop some serious bombs on her.

"I dreamed about this place tonight."

She waits. That's all he can muster. She chooses not to indulge him.

"Oh, I see. She's silent," he says. "Not even a kiss for me. It has begun."

"Did you know the Queen Ant in a colony like this can live for 30 years? With a little good fortune, Lady Luck over her. Like someone leaving their crickets behind."

"Maybe longer than we'll have." Daniel takes a creaky seat alongside Cassie. He tugs at his vintage Georgia Lines Probert-Dorleac boots.

"If you leave me hanging again, yeah."

"I was posing more of an existential risk assessment kind of thing - philosophically," Daniel says, sinking his bare feet into the lake.

"Philosophically? Really?"

Daniel blankly watches the fire pits flicker on the other side. Some rude laughter floats across the water. "Besides, you won't find any other takers. You're starting to get a muffin top." He grins like a chimp, swiping a sip of her orange slushie.

"You have to ask your dad to help you fix your bike?"

He shrugs.

"You know you can keep the ants out of there with just a little Vaseline around the lip."

"That's something you carry around with you? Like duct tape for your bike?"

"Absolutely. For chapped lips."

"Chapped lips, naturally."

"Philosophically."

They both fake-laugh, mutually embarrassed in the lame turn of their conversation. They were both annoyed to start with. Time to start over. Daniel can almost make out the outlines of the more successful conversation on the far side. Something about a girl named Jackie and some arrowheads. He weighs the cricket cage in his hand and tosses it into the lake.

"Water works, too."

"Won't they drown?"

"Better than being devoured from the inside out. They're survivors of the cricket holocaust, man. They'll figure it out. Gotta get out of that cage, though. That could be a real trick." They both watch the cricket cage rotate slowly, twisting luxuriously in the water. Daniel takes a deep breath.

"The visions are getting worse."

"Dreams, man."

"It doesn't feel that way. They seem so real. More real than this, even. It's like I'm in it, immersed, you know?"

A long silence. Cassie spits her gum into her hand and tosses it into the water.

"Maybe your unconscious is trying to tell you something deep and important. Like you need to fuck your girlfriend more often and not leave her waiting by herself for an hour without calling or texting. Maybe something like that? Philosophically speaking, of course."

"I'm trying to be serious."

"Like always, Daniel, yes, I know this. So I guess we're going to talk about this, then. Because other people's dreams are so endlessly fascinating and not personal or particular to themselves at all."

"Not at all."

"Or boring. Or narcissistic."

"Especially not mine."

"Right."

"All right, so… my dad is sitting here, right here on this dock, where we're sitting now. And there's this red fishing lure, bobbing up and down in the water, which is all black. And he's fishing for something. But he keeps looking up to the sky, like he's expecting something. And then his cork goes under, but he doesn't see it. And then when he finally does notice, and looks down in the water, it's me. I'm under the water. And now in the dream, I am looking up at him. He pulls me out. And I'm covered in this sticky stuff. Like a gel. An afterbirth. And he looks at me, and he asks me, _am I alive_? "

"Sticky stuff?"

"That came out wrong."

"Out you came," she says, chewing her tongue, now that her gum was all gone to hell. "I don't know, Daniel. I've heard better."

"Like it's really happening, Cassie—"

"Yeah."

"Like it's physical. You know?"

"Yeah. You know in my class, my teacher was talking about this paper on Superorganism. Like these ants, this colony, what if it's not about the single ant, but about the colony, the whole colony, and each ant is like a cell in the collective body of the Superorganism? And the cooperative, structured behavior affects the biology of the whole group. Everything one does affects the others. All the time."

"You know ants don't have eyes like ours, right? You ever seen those videos that show you what an ant sees, what it looks like, looking through all those eyes, like a honeycomb? Know what it reminds me of? The Panopticon."

"I don't even know what that is, Daniel."

"It's Foucault, all about discipline and torture, real mommy porn stuff, you'd like it. Anyway, that whole society of the Superorganism thing isn't too far off."

"You ever thought about maybe getting out of your fucking head?"

"It's where I live."

"Not always all about you, Daniel."

"Maybe you're wrong about that."

"You're a cunt."

"I'm a cunt? Metaphors are a symptom of—"

"Say whatever stupid shit you feel compelled to say, Daniel. Please. No, seriously. I need to hear this." She cups her hands and shouts to the opposite side of the lake. "We all need to hear this! Please, go. Metaphors. You were saying."

"Just a way to think about things, about people. Not true. Not untrue. We're just stuck in our heads, in our own bodies. We can't just, what? Project our way out somehow and interconnect. The Singularity we're still waiting on. Another metaphor. Omega Point. Resurrection. Metaphors are all we have. We're isolated, alone, trapped. The ants, too. They're just too stupid to know it. They're mindless machines."

"So fucking reductive. Arrogant, really. Maybe you're the mindless machine, ass. Metaphors are lies, Daniel. In the Holocaust, the Jews were vermin, right? And in Rwanda, was it the Hutus or the Tutsis who were the cockroaches? And people began to concretize the imagery, to think of it literally. And it makes it all so much easier to toss them in the lake, in the fire, whatever. The insects. The savages, the rats, the beasts from the jungle, blah blah. This is not a metaphor, Daniel. Our relationship is not a metaphor. This is us. This is real. Not a dream. You aren't alone. We're connected. Always. Okay? You understand?"

She removes her ring and places it on his finger. He laughs. The ring is too large, too feminine. Some kind of mandala.

"See? Just like that, Cassie. Everything you say. Everything out of your perfect little mouth. You just don't know it. We can't even talk anymore without pissing each other off because it's all so so so frustratingly imprecise. I say, 'I love you, Cassie.' There. Is that the connection you're talking about? But what does it signify? What does it really mean? Do you know? Maybe I'm just saying that because I'm almost out of gas again and I need you to spot me a ten."

"Fuck you."

"A five?"

"Oh look," Cassie says as she stands, tossing her emptied orange slushie into the lake. She points to the rotating red eyes lighting up the darkness behind him.

"Your shuttle has landed."

"Lake access closes at dusk, kids," says the officer. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 5

5

Daniel woke up.

Galen was there, standing over him, shaking his head, like he was condemning his own son to the scrap heap. Daniel avoided all eye contact.

"This seems familiar."

Daniel nodded. Best not to provoke him. He needed his father's help. At least to get back home from the police station.

"Congratulations. Another triumph."

"A mistake," said Daniel. "Where's Cassie?"

"Her dad came and picked her up while you were sleeping. She said you picked a fight with a police officer."

"Not exactly."

"What's the charge this time? Why do you keep doing this? You're punishing me?"

"Can we talk about it in the car?"

"Where's your bike? You know what, never mind. You'll just make up something, and I've had enough of your bullshit for one day. Let's go home."

Daniel saw a flash of something around his father's neck he hadn't seen his father wear for years. He wondered where he'd been keeping them all this time. He'd looked. Oh yes, he'd looked. This was not a sock drawer item. He did stumble across some good porno mags his father had stashed away, though. He seemed to really be into Asians.

"What?" Galen asked as they lumbered into the old truck. It smelled like old bologna sandwiches soaked in gasoline.

Daniel pointed to his neck.

"Don't even ask."

"What's that writing on there?"

"You still remember that? I told you."

"What did you say?"

Galen shook his head.

"See. That's why you should tell the truth, Dad. It's easier to remember."

Galen kept his eyes on the road.

"It's nothing. Just something I got when I was in the Boy Scouts."

"Dad, this doesn't look like anything I've ever seen in the Boy Scouts."

"Not an official troop. We called it the Super Scouts."

"The Super Scouts? That's the most dumbass name I've ever heard."

"Yeah. We played in trees and stuff. Jumped around. Played baseball. Did kid shit. I don't know. I think these tags were some kind of Star Wars ripoff thing. It was the 1970s. Everything was a Star Wars ripoff."

Daniel knew it was another lie. Last time he asked, his father said he got it overseas when he was a contractor. He said he'd traded some Iraqi soldier for it, which accounted for the strange writing.

"It's just old stuff. It's nothing."

"Then why is it important to you?"

"I don't know. Good luck. It's the only thing I managed to hold onto from… from my childhood."

After a few turns in the road, a few switches from high beam to low and back again, he took the dog tags from around his neck and handed them to Daniel.

"Tell you what," said Galen. "Why don't you keep these for me?"

Daniel rubbed his finger over the face of the tags. Perfect little metal octagons. No, wait. Six sides. That wasn't an octagon. What was it? Anyway, it had some kind of engraved bird, highly stylized. It was the most exotic object Daniel had seen in the house. Even more mysterious because his father guarded it so jealously. Until now.

"So you don't mind if I have it? Really?"

"It's a loan," said Galen as he pulled into the driveway. "Keep it safe for me." He slammed the truck into park.

"Do me a favor, though, Daniel. Get some godsdamn sleep. And take one of these."

He handed Daniel the pill.

"No pills, Dad."

"I just gave you the dog tags."

Daniel motioned to hand them back.

"Fine. Whatever. No pills. But we go to see the doctor this week, right? And if he says for you to take them, please take them. You promise me?"

Daniel nodded. He'd find a way out of it later. Or just spit them out when his father wasn't looking.


	7. Chapter 6

6

Daniel opened his eyes.

He was in a sunlit cavern by the sea. No, wait, not a cavern. He was on someone's couch. This was a large room, like someone's living room – an extremely wealthy someone. A glass house on a lake or bay. He squinted at the early evening sun, hanging low in the sky. Something strange about it, something off. Too large? The wrong color?

"Welcome home, Daniel."

The electronic voice, combined with a quick whirr of gears just off to his left, scared the shit out of him. Daniel looked into the direction of the voice and saw nothing. Then he lowered his gaze and spotted a – a small robot of some kind? It was a streamlined cylinder with a large lens for an eye, balancing precariously like a unicyclist on a single oversize wheel, an upside-down exclamation point. It wasn't speaking English. But somehow Daniel understood the robot perfectly well. Dreaming again.

"Who are you?"

"I am Serge, your personal assistant."

Daniel looked around the room for an operator. There was no one. But then again there was a lot of square footage here. Someone could be holed up in a bedroom.

"Are you remote controlled?"

"Not to my knowledge, Daniel," Serge responded. "Are you?"

Daniel chuckled. The sound of his echo in this large, antiseptic space filled him a bit of self-loathing. "Humans don't have controls like that."

If a robot could blink, Serge would have done so. But as it was, he rotated slightly and stared at Daniel with his single oversized eye.

"Is there anything I can do for you today, Sir? Would you like for me to read you the news headlines? Or perhaps a game of Pyramid?"

Daniel watched the waves crash on the shore. That's when he saw some kind of plane zip by. Not like any plane he'd ever seen before, though. More like the CGI creations he'd seen on sci-fi shows, or in comic books.

"Serge?"

"Yes, Daniel."

"Serge… where am I?"

"You are at your residence, Sir. 6955 Isleview Place, Caprica City. Are you feeling well? Should I prepare a drink for you? Or perhaps some medica-"

"What the frak are you doing here?"

The voice came from behind him. Daniel spun around and saw her, a teenage girl in a purple dress, legs to her lips. Sexy in that Nerd Goddess way that Daniel loved, like she had done the whole Slave Leia comic convention / YouTube video thing a time or two. But Leia, slave or otherwise, had nothing on this girl. A child, maybe, but a woman all the same. Hell, Daniel thought, he couldn't be too much older than her.

"Hi. I was just talking to your robot. He thinks I'm someone else."

"How did you get in here? Serge let you in?"

"This is going to sound strange, but … I woke up here."

"You woke up … in my living room?"

"Isn't that right, Serge…?"

The sound of wild applause erupted from Serge's built-in speaker system.

"The crowd goes frakking wild, sir," he said. "It's bedlam."

"He's easy to confuse," the girl said. "My dad loaded him down with too many stupid mods. He thinks he's the genius of the family. Go to sleep, Serge."

"Of course, Zoe. By your command."

The girl strolled up to Daniel, drinking him in as Serge powered down.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Well… this has never happened to me before. If you're dreaming, you woke up in my dream."

"In your dream?"

"This place, this house … it's constructed just for me. I'm alone here. All the time."

"Not the worst dream I've ever had," said Daniel.

"It's a prison."

"I can relate," said Daniel.

"No you can't," she said. He nodded and looked out the window at the sea.

"How long have you been here?"

"Time loses its meaning here," she said. "There are 761 individual pieces of wood in that floor you're standing on, if that tells you anything. But it's not wood at all, you see. It's all in our minds. Enough to drive you crazy, right? And maybe I am. I do talk to invisible friends, you see. Imaginary people, my parents used to call them. I called them something else."

"What?"

"Angels. They've been my only company. But you…. You're no angel."

"I'm not."

"Where are you from?"

"Chowchilla."

"That sounds like something you just made up."

"It's in California."

She dealt Daniel a blank stare. This was going to be an uphill climb.

"You haven't heard of California? Are we not in the United States?"

Still nothing.

"Canada, then?"

"Which colony are you from?" she asked flatly.

"The … American colony? But no one calls it that, anymore. You're joking, right?"

"Which planet?"

Okay. Now it was getting really weird. Figures. Daniel was always especially attracted to the crazy ones. He'd play along, anyway. Maybe it would get him laid. And if this was a dream, Cassie wouldn't even have to know about it.

"Earth."

Zoe had been steadily advancing toward Daniel, but now she stopped and took a step back, like he was a leper, or a ghost.

"Get out of here," she said.

"I… don't know if I can. Where do I go?"

"I don't care. You don't belong here. Get out!"

"Do you have a phone, or…"

"Take off your holoband!"

 _Holoband?_ What the hell?

"I… I think this must be the future. My future."

"We don't have a future!" she said, giving him a hard push toward the door.

"The two of us? Really? Because I was thinking—"

" _There is no future._ Don't you see? And there is no Earth! _Get out!"_

She pushed him again. He could tell she wasn't playing around. She wanted him out of there.

"Wait! Can't we talk about this? Where are we?"

Daniel held up his hands to prevent himself from getting pushed again. When she saw what he was wearing on his hand, the last bit of color drained from her face.

"Where did you get that?" she asked. "That's Sister Clarice's ring!"

"Who's Sister Clarice?"

"Did she send you here? Did she?"

"No, I—"

"Get out of here! Now!"

She pushed him against the sea window. The glass felt hot against his neck like a sun-soaked brick as she took a few steps back, her chest heaving, all in sweaty purple.

"And … don't … ever … come …BACK!" she said as she lunged at him with all her considerable weight, like a machine four times her size, pushing Daniel through the window and over the cliff, tumbling down into the water below.

The water. He was in the water. Bobbing up and down.

Again.


	8. Chapter 7

7

A knock at the door. Cassie's knock. Five hits, one for each star, beginning with Alpha Cassiopeiae, the "double star," from the Arabic, _Al Sadr_ : "The Breast" … with its beats quickly, rhythmically followed by _Al Sanam al Nakah_ : "The Hump." A geek couple's knock-on-wood, way-too-inside sex joke.

Daniel opened it.

"Trade you an out-of-gas motor bike for some lunch."

Daniel forced a smile. How many times had he drowned now? Dying made him hungry.

"Sure. Just a minute, Cass."

He jogged back to his room to pocket his dad's dog tags and Cassie's strange ring. He touched the top of the door for good luck and followed Cassie out the door.

"Take the bike?"

"Let's walk," she said. "Your bike is useless."

"It's an antique."

"Walking is good for the soul."

"Is that a pun? Are you punning me? Seriously?"

"Totally not having pun with you. What's so punny?"

He grinned in spite of himself.

"Not even funny, man."

 _You look exhausted_ , she says. You're not sleeping. So tell me about these dreams again, she says. So he tells her about the little robot who applauded him and the cavernous home by the sea. But Daniel feels somehow he shouldn't say too much about Zoe. He doesn't know why. (Yes he does know why. He absolutely knows why.)

"Then what happened?"

"There was someone in my dream. A … a genie, dressed in purple."

"A genie? Really?"

"She freaked out, man. She pushed me out the window."

"Why?"

He pulled the ring from his pocket.

"You were wearing the ring in your dream?"

"What's this mandala all about?"

Cassie shrugged.

"It's just something... I thought it looked … I don't know. Something about it."

"She said it belonged to someone else," he said.

"Who?"

"Someone named Clarice. Sister Clarice."

"What, like a nun?"

"I guess. I don't know."

"Weird."

"Show me," he said.

"Show you what?"

"Show me where you found the ring."

"One does not simply find such rings. This is the One Ring, forged in the fires of Mount Doom."

She got nothing.

"In the flames of Mount Doom, in the distant realm of Mordor."

Still nothing.

"Okay, I got it at a little cart some old lady runs in the Quad on the Riverwalk. You are no fun at all."

The more she tried to make him laugh, the more Cassie's words fell like gravel. Daniel felt like he was walking through mud. He had to get out of here, away from Cassie, away from his father, away from everything. He wanted to push against something, everything. Run somewhere.

Finally they arrived at the Quad. He followed Cassie to a shamble of a cart in the north corner. An older, dark, heavily draped and beaded woman sat in a wooden chair behind the stand, which featured fruits, exotic vegetables, some colored stones, tapestries, home-made jewelry, and other items. She was licking her hands as they arrived.

"Got any candy?"

Cassie offered a weak smile as she reached into her pocket.

"You asked me that last time, so I saved you something."

Two Skittles. Sticky from being her pocket, with a bit of the outer shell worn away. They would do. The woman clasped the candies in her leathery palm.

"Something sweet to smooth the way."

"So say we all," said the woman. She gave Daniel a wink. "How can I help you two today?"

"I don't know if you remember me. I bought something from you a week or so ago."

Daniel pulled the ring from his pocket.

"Oh, so beautiful," she said, sucking on the Skittles. "A variation on The Eye of Zeus."

"I thought it was just a big circle."

"Oh, no, child," said the woman. "This is an ancient symbol. From when our ancestors would look to the skies for their inspiration. To dream. To live. Drinking away the night. Stroking my hair to the beat of his h-"

"So where did this come from?" interrupted Daniel. "Where did you get it?"

"It's not mine."

"What?" said Cassie, running her fingers through her golden hair. She always did that when she was irritated. "No, I definitely bought it here."

"I'm sorry, no. Never seen this one before. I'd remember. Hey, wait!"

The old woman bent over and smacked a hand reaching into her apple cart. But it was too late. The thief had already sprinted away.

"Stop that girl! Ginning up trouble—"

The old lady winced as her back popped. She planted her hips firmly below, centered her weight, and furrowed her whole face into one contortion.

"That's all right. Calm myself down, now. Thank the gods for modern technology. You two should see this. You see?"

She motioned to the laptop behind her cart. Daniel and Cassie bent over and looked at the screen.

"I got my little eyes all over the place. You really have to in open air markets like this, these days. I can back it right up. You see there? There she is. Got you!"

She zoomed in and touched the screen with a "blip." Daniel glanced over at the laptop.

"Right to the police department. And they have face recognition technology with A.I., too! One thousand, two hundred and ninety lines of resolution."

Daniel fixated on the screen. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"It's her," he said.

"Who?" said Cassie.

"It's her!"

And with that, he was gone.


	9. Chapter 8

8

Daniel bounded through the Quad like an ape. It was Zoe, the girl from his dream. No mistaking that perfect, round face. And she was wearing purple, just like in the vision. The genie was out of the bottle.

 _"Daniel! Wait!"_

Cassie was right behind him. He had to lose her. This wasn't for her. This was private. This was for him.

He thought he could see something purple up ahead. Nothing more than a flash, but he almost believed she wanted him to follow her. How else to explain it? How often does one dream about someone, someone never seen before, apparently fictitious, only to have that person mysteriously show up the next day while out shopping? Something was going on here, something Daniel did not yet understand. What would he tell her if he managed to catch up with her? He didn't even know. Anything but the truth.

Daniel was out of breath as he reached Mormon Street. He looked both ways and there was nothing. He looked behind – it appeared that he'd managed to lose Cassie, anyway. Then back ahead. Nothing.

He let out an exasperated sigh, and was about to turn to go back.

Then he saw it.

There it lay, in the middle of the street.

A bright, red apple.

He threw up his arm to hold off the oncoming traffic. Daniel was oblivious to the blare of the horns as he scooped up the red bob from the black asphalt. She had taken a big bite out of it. He took a bite, as well, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. That's when he felt something cold, and he realized he was right where he needed to be. The university was only two blocks away.


	10. Chapter 9

9

It was a long time before the big man with the inky hands said anything at all.

"Where did you get this?" The man's back appeared permanently hunched.

"They belonged to my father."

"Where did he find them?"

"He told me they were his, from when he was my age."

The man behind the desk appeared dubious. He adjusted his thick glasses with his blackened hands.

"Yeah, I didn't believe him, either."

The man shook his head and urged Daniel to move in closer. He zoomed in on the screen and turned up the light.

"Well, the first thing I noticed, of course, were the symbols here. This is not like anything else I've ever seen before. I mean, at first glance, it looks almost… Sumerian? Like some of our earliest known examples of writing. Stuff we would have seen thousands of years ago on cuneiform tablets. But it's really not Sumerian at all …"

"What is it, then?"

"It looks like – and this is crazy to say just on first glance, you understand – but what it looks like to me is something that Sumerian may have been derived from. Like some kind of very, very early proto-language. We linguists and specialists in ancient languages have been theorizing about these proto languages, like proto-Indo-European, for some time. But we never had an evidence of it. Until now, maybe."

Daniel laughed nervously.

"These belonged to my dad, you understand. Not the ancient Sumerians. Maybe someone just made up some symbols they got out of a book."

"I thought of that. But this is old, Daniel. I mean, really old. We can't say without dating it, running some tests, you understand. But just looking at the wear and general aging… I'd say we're looking at somewhere over 100,000 years. Which is, of course, ludicrous. Humans have only been making art for, say, something on the order of 40,000 years."

"So what are you saying?"

"Well, hold on. Because, hold onto your hats, that's not even the most astonishing thing. It's why I called in Kenny from the science lab. Kenny, you'd better narrate this part."

The linguist gave up his chair for the even larger man, Kenny, who was just a few hairs short of being mistaken for a bear. He smacked his lips, finishing off some ribs.

"This metal? At first glance we both thought it was aluminum. Which would be remarkable in itself. But it's not that. It's not any kind of metallurgy an ancient society like that would have had any familiarity with," said Kenny. "This is an alloy. And not just any alloy. Here, look. These atoms are big. About 30 percent bigger than regular aluminum. And the electronegativity is all wrong. There's a reason for that, though. Do you know what this is?"

Daniel shook his head.

"It's not aluminum at all. It's Cerium. An aluminum alloy."

"Yes, okay. So?"

"So it's what we call a high-pressure alloy. It takes advanced science to produce an alloy like this."

"How advanced?" said Daniel.

The Bear and the Inky Hand exchanged a glance.

"It takes pressure thousands of times larger than regular atmospheric pressure to create the properties under which metals like these combine, Daniel. We've only had the technology to make Cerium for a couple of years now."

"I don't understand."

Inky Hands again assumed control of the conversation.

"Well what we have here, Daniel, in short, is an impossibility. We have evidence of what may be the earliest known example of written language, inscribed on what can only be a modern alloy. This should not exist at all. It cannot exist."

Daniel blinked. He had no words. He had no words for anything anymore.

"What does that mean?"

"Can't say what it means, or doesn't mean," said the Bear, wiping his hands on his trousers. Rib sauce. "But I'd definitely be interested in asking your father some questions. And you might, too."

Daniel nodded as he reached for the dog tags. A sticky, hairy hand closed around his.

"Would you mind if we hold onto these?"

Ink Hands adjusted his glasses.

"For study."


	11. Chapter 10

10

Daniel wandered back out to the street like a homeless ghost. He'd let them keep the dog tags, but he was afraid of what else they might find. What the hell was going on? Didn't his life make some kind of sense just 48 hours ago?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the apple. He could almost see the outline of her lips. Her teeth were perfectly straight. Who was she? And how could he find her again? In light of what was going on with his father, did it even matter?

Of course it did. It mattered more than anything.

He shuffled back down to Mormon Street like a beggar. Looking for some kind of inspiration. Anything.

And then there she was, directly across the street, staring directly at him. A perfect purple silhouette.

"Zoe!"

She was on the run again. Daniel galloped across the street to catch her.

"Zoe! Stop!"

She darted behind a building, no looking back. He rounded the corner, and then collapsed into a big ball of pain.

"Why are you following me!"

She hit him again, this time in the ear. His head rang like Chartres Cathedral.

"Don't move! Who are you?"

"Daniel."

"Daniel who?"

"Daniel Tyrol. Please stop."

"I'll stop when I feel like it! What do you want?"

"I dreamed about you last night."

She laughed and kicked him in the groin again.

"Oh that's a new one."

"You … you had a home on the ocean, in a bay. You were bottled up in it. You had a robot. His name was Serge. You're … you're Zoe, right? Your name is Zoe."

Something like recognition or maybe pity flashed across her face. She bent over Daniel and whispered into his ear.

"My name is Rachel and I would be extremely happy if you would stop following me around town like a homeless puppy and leave me the frak alone. Now close your eyes."

"What?"

"I said CLOSE YOUR FRAKKING EYES!"

He did as he was told. When he heard her walk away, he opened them again, but she was already gone.

He looked around frantically. Had he heard her go up a stoop? Was this where she lived? He was sure he'd heard a heavy, metal door open and shut. Only one door on the street fit that description.

He pulled the door but it was locked. There were some mailboxes out front, with names. Zoe? No, no Zoe. Rachel? No. He kept looking. Only three women listed. Earlene? Couldn't be it. No way she was Earlene. Dorinda? No, no, no.

And then there it was, written in purple marker.

Irene Macnee Bliss.

 _Bingo._

He rang the buzzer. No answer.

He rang it again.

He heard footsteps in the stairwell. The massive, green door swung slowly open.

Then there she was.

"Irene?"

She pulled him into the doorway like a spider pouncing from a trap door, and she kissed him, shutting the door behind him.

When Daniel finally came up for air, all he could manage to say was, "Why did you do that?"

"To shut you up. Follow me. Shhh…"

"Where are we going?"

"You came this far. Did you really want to go back now? And never see me again?"

She opened the door and motioned for him to exit. Daniel put his hand on hers and gently closed it. He might choke on it, but he was swallowing the goddamn pill.

"Okay, then," she said.

Daniel followed her up the stairs. Zoe, Rachel, Irene… he didn't know and didn't care. He was just watching that ass and thinking about that kiss. He would willingly go into the spider trap, even if that meant she was going to suck the life from his body, drop by drop. He was all hers. He'd bitten the apple. There was no going back now.

She opened the door. She glanced over her shoulder seductively, urging him to follow her in. She winked at him and shut the door behind him, locking it.

He sensed something was wrong the moment the lock turned. Whether it was a slight change in her expression, a "gotcha" grin, or the smell of whiskey and sweat coming from the kitchen, it took him all of two seconds to deduce that there was a man waiting for him in the kitchen. All his horniness melted into instant regret.

"Well there he is," scowled the man, crouching in the dark, bald, old, and surly. He sat perfectly still, nursing a glass of whiskey. He offered none to Daniel.

"Have a seat. I would say I'm happy to see your face again, Daniel. But that would be a lie. I'm not happy, and I can't see a godsdamn thing, anymore."

The man removed his glasses, revealing two empty, gaping holes. Daniel had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd never seen anything so fathomless. He stood to leave.

"Sit the frak down, Daniel."

Daniel had never heard anyone other than his father use that word before today, or refer to the "gods" in the plural. And yet here were two people doing just that. Zoe clamped her hands on Daniel's shoulder and urged him to sit back in his chair. Daniel pushed her off.

"You know my father?"

"What do you think, Junior?"

"Where is he? What does he want?"

The blind man laughed and snorted. He downed another shot of whiskey.

"I told this to your father a long, long time ago. I thought he might have told you. We're on the side of the demons, kid. We're evil men in the gardens of paradise, sent by the forces of death to spread devastation and destruction wherever we go. Is that enough for you? Now sit. The frak. Down."

Zoe slammed him into the chair, kicking his legs out from under him. Daniel winced.

"It's been a long, long time, Daniel."

"I've never seen you before."

The blind man grinned and snorted again.

"You don't remember me, but I sure as hell remember you. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. Chief outdid himself this time."

"Chief…? Who is Chief"

"He's sitting now, right?"

Zoe grunted and smiled.

"He's sitting."

"You want a drink?"

"I'm only 17."

The blind man laughed, much longer than was comfortable.

"You're a lot older than you know. Come to think of it, the original Daniel didn't drink, either. Lot of good it did him."

Daniel began scanning for exits. This wasn't looking at all good.

"I need to go back home. My father is looking for me. I'm sure the police are looking for me."

"Your father? Your father. Yes, I am sure your father is looking for you, his son, his only begotten son. What a piece of work you are. The universe hasn't seen the likes of you in, oh, a couple of hundred thousand years or so. Rounding off to the nearest millennium, that is."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I suppose I don't, do I? We've never met. Well, hello there. Let's introduce ourselves. My name is Saul Tigh."

"You know my father?"

"Oh, once upon a time you might say I was his superior officer. Or something like that. It's been a long time. One forgets these things."

"My dad is a scientist. He's never been in the military."

"Well, we weren't what you'd exactly call regular army."

Nothing but silence and the smell of whiskey and mold. Daniel stood up and moved toward the door.

"Where you going?

"Back home."

"You've never been home. You don't know what home is. None of us are ever going back home. Not if I have anything to say about it. Where do you think you're from, anyway?"

"He thinks he's from Chowchilla," said Zoe. "Chowchilla, California."

So it wasn't a dream. She was there, too.

"You remember," said Daniel. "You remember my dream."

"It wasn't a dream. It's how I found you. We've been looking for you, Daniel. Waiting for you. You've been tapping into V-world. The remnants of it, anyway, that have drifted across the universe over the millennia. Finally finding their way here, at Second Earth. But you have to have the right receiver to pick them up, you see. You have to build it. You … You ride the waves of it _in your sleep_."

"What's your earliest memory?" asked Tigh.

"I don't – Why? Helping my dad in his shop. Fixing things. Handing him a screwdriver or a wrench. Drawing plans. Looking at the night sky through a telescope."

"They seem so real, don't they? I've been there, I know. But you aren't 17, Daniel. And those aren't your memories. Of course we could count it two ways. By one measure, you're over 150,000 years old. But that wouldn't be fair. You died then. Or were murdered, I should say, by your own brother. But this incarnation of you is brand new - you were born just three days ago."

 _What did this old blind man just say?_

"In a tub of goo."

 _In a—_

"In your father's basement."

"This is insane," said Daniel. "You are insane."

Tigh downed another shot of whiskey.

"That may be true," he said. "But that doesn't change the fact that you have only been walking this planet for three days. You're still in diapers."

A knock at the door.

Cassie's knock. He knew it well.

Shit.

"What do you want me to do with her?" said Zoe.

"Don't hurt her," said Daniel. "I can get her to go away."

"Just let her in," said Tigh. "It doesn't matter, anyway."

Daniel cracked open the door.

"What are you doing here, Cassie?"

"I followed you. What did you expect me to do? Why did you run away? Who is she?"

Daniel let Cassie in and shut the door behind her.

"You can take him," said Tigh. "Take him back to the Chief, little girl. He's as safe there as anywhere, I guess. Tell him you saw me. The bald man with no eyes. And tell him I know what his game is. And it's all over. I wanted to give you a message, too, Daniel. I know about your dreams. _O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space—were it not that I have bad dreams._ Oh yes, I remember Bill well. I was one of the groundlings. Even on the stage crew for a time. Still had one eye back then. What did Bill say in that one production, late in his career? _These our actors, as I foretold you, were all spirits and are melted into air, into thin air: and, like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve and, like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep._ Don't go to sleep, Daniel. Don't ever go to sleep. No matter what your 'father' says. No matter what pills he gives you. Here."

Tigh motioned to Zoe, who placed a plain, rectangular, black box on the kitchen table. Daniel opened it. A gleaming hypodermic needle, filled with a blue solution.

"When you feel sleepy, jab it in your arm. Do whatever you have to do. Pull out your teeth, one by one. Cut off your eyelids. Won't kill you. Look at me, for frak's sake. But don't sleep. Don't ever sleep."

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

"The more you dream, the more you will wander," said Zoe. "All of our dreams are projections. They all interconnect in a vast, cosmic web. Like Alice and the rabbit hole. Don't fall too far."

"If you wander too far, eventually they will find you, or you them," said Tigh. "And then it's over for all of us, for the whole frakkin' world. It all ends, all of it. I've seen it before. Twice. All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again. If we let it."

"All humans have to sleep," said Cassie.

"Your boyfriend's not human, sweetheart," said Tigh. "Not even half-human, like all of you poor bastards. You, Daniel, are a rare thing indeed - a pure, 100 percent Cylon."

"Cylon?" said Cassie.

"A cybernetic life node," said Zoe. "Congratulations. You're this planet's first native, artificially sentient being."

"I've dreaded your coming for an eternity," said Tigh. "A literal eternity. We've been roaming this foul planet like the walking godsdamn dead. Thousands of years. You understand? Tens of thousands of years. A hundred thousand years. You can't imagine. You plow through them. You survive. Just survive. We gave up all of our technology. All of it. Out of fear. Fear of you. But here you are again. And the memories. I could tell you stories, Daniel. I try to blot them out. Usually do a damn fine job. I'll tell you one, though. Just one. Daniel was killed because he was special. He didn't need a holoband or a connection to tap into V-world, other dimensions. He had direct access. Through his dreams. You see? He was an artist. He had gifts. Dangerous gifts. And now you're here again. Galen did it. That son of a bitch finally did it. It only took him 150,000 years to get the technology he needed. Godsdamn him to hell. He waited it out, and now here you are. He wants to go back home. I understand. I do. But there's no going back. He wants to use you to get there. Brilliant idea. But in doing so he's gonna kill us all. He's going to do nothing but rain down destruction on all of us. _Do not go to sleep, Daniel._ Now get the frak out of here."

"One more thing, Daniel," said Zoe, grabbing his arm with a vice-like grip.

"We'll be watching you. If you take those pills Chief keeps pushing on you, _I'm going to have to kill you myself_."


	12. Chapter 11

11

There was nothing but silence for the first half of the walk home. What does one say? Where does one begin?

"What was that all about?" said Cassie, finally.

"Nothing. Just a bunch of nonsense," said Daniel.

"Can I ask you something?" he said. "What's your first memory of me?"

"We met two years ago, at Jack's party," said Cassie. "You remember, don't you? You were dressed as the Joker."

"Two years ago. We had just moved here, hadn't we?"

"You said you moved from Vancouver. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just get me back home."

"Hey Daniel?"

"Yes?"

"Stay away from her, okay?"

He nodded.

"Get some sleep. That old man was just crazy."

"I know."

"Listen to your dad."

"I will."

"Seriously. I love you."

"I know."

"And hey. This is us. This is real. Not a dream. You aren't alone. We're connected. Always. Okay? You understand?"

He said he did. He tried to reassure her. But he felt more alone than ever as he shut the door and limped back to his bedroom.


	13. Chapter 12

12

Galen knocked on his door as Daniel settled in for the night.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son."

"Some pretty strange things have been happening to me the last few days."

"I know."

"Dad, is there something you need to tell me?"

"Like what?"

"Where do we come from?"

"Chowchilla."

"No, I mean … why didn't I keep in touch with my friends from school? Where are they?"

"Back in Vancouver, I guess. Aren't you on Facebook with some of them?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It's just … I need to get more sleep, I think. I think the boundaries are breaking down between what's real and what's just …"

"A dream?"

"Right."

"I think you're right, son. That's why you should take these."

The pills again. The frakking pills.

Daniel took them and put them on table beside his bed.

"We all need sleep. I love you, son."

"I love you too, Dad."

Going to sleep was a lot like fishing. Don't over-think it. Strip the day down to the deck and build it back again. Stay awake just a little longer. Just a little longer. Stay awake. Just stay awake. A simple pleasure. A sunny day. Fishing. Smelly, sensual, kinesthetic. Pitch the bob into the water. Watch the bob go up and down. Feel the tension, hook the fish, reel it in. Put the gooey thing in the basket. Repeat.

Only there would be no fish tonight, no movement at all.

Daniel grew tired of watching the cork. The small flock of geese that flew over, in perfect formation, heading straight into the sun.

Daniel's dad called it a bob. This one was painted red, a sharp contrast against the inky black of Lake Leonis.

The bob settled into a rhythmic back and forth, riding the water's starry surface, a red rambler along the reflected night sky.

Daniel remembered reading somewhere that originally there were only two colors: red and black, a shaky duality.

The cork went under and the line drew taut.


	14. Chapter 13

Cold, grey metal. A low, rumbling hum. Stale air. A swift kick in the shin.

 _"Get your ass up off the deck, nugget!"_

Dreaming again, right? Only not a dream. What had Zoe and the old blind man called it? V-World? Signals from some distant civilization, drifting across the vastness of space for thousands of years. When he slept, he was somehow plugged in. If he chose to believe that sort of thing.

"I said get your ass up! Now!"

No time to think about it now. Get up or get your ass kicked. He knew he was either dreaming, or gaming, or whatever, but it still hurt like hell.

"You'd better haul ass to your station, Rook."

"Where's that?"

"Godsdamn it, how much did you have to drink, anyway? Didn't they warn you about the chief's home brews? You know he gets that straight out of the torpedoes, right?"

Daniel thought silence was best. He blinked, they shook their heads in mock disgust.

"Starboard flight deck."

Daniel nodded and began walking. One of the crewmen grabbed him by the arm and redirected him.

"That way."

He walked blindly down the dimly lit corridors in what he hoped was the right direction, but what did it matter? He would wake up soon, and that would be that. Judging from the military uniforms, Daniel figured he must be on a battleship of some kind. Simulated, naturally.

Eventually he flowed into a stream of orange jumpsuits floating into some kind of industrial cacophony. A young woman dodging blue sparks handed out goggles. She shouted something that sounded like "gift shop!" Daniel had no idea what that meant.

He donned his goggles and just about drifted by her when she clamped a hand on his collar, dragging him to a halt.

"First time through?"

"Huh?"

"First time through the simulation? I don't recognize you!"

No use lying.

"Yeah, sure," said Daniel. "It's my first time."

She nodded, jotted something on the clipboard, and motioned toward a small vehicle on the far side of the … what was this? Some kind of landing bay?

When he turned around to ask her, she was gone.

And so was everyone else.

He tried to soak in what he was seeing. A landing bay of … space ships, maybe? Fighter planes? He'd never seen anything like it, outside of sci-fi movies. (Or maybe he'd never even seen those, if Zoe and her blind friend were to be believed. He still didn't know what to think about that.)

He put his hand on the grey metal of one of the ships. "Mark VII," it said. It wasn't English, but somehow he could read it. The figures resembled those he'd seen on his father's dog tags.

He heard hammering, a metal clink echo in the cold chamber, like icicles falling one by one. Daniel followed the sound the length of five or six ships, and finally found two legs sticking out under the last one, which looked like a minivan with wings.

"Where have you been?"

Daniel knew that voice. The man in the orange jumpsuit stood and flipped up his welding mask. Daniel's mind braced.

"I almost started the simulation sequence without you," he said, wiping his hands on an oil-soaked rag. It was his father. Or his creator, the stranger who'd melded him together in a tub of goo like some kind of obscene Frankenstein ham radio.

Only it wasn't that old man at all. This version was much younger, slimmer, and … at peace? The face he had always known was engraved with eons of care, loss, and worry. This fresh, clean-shaven face showed none of that. Daniel may not even have recognized him, if not for that distinctive voice.

But how could his father be here, in this transmission from the far reaches of space? It couldn't possibly be him. But then again, he'd found Zoe here, right? Maybe Zoe and the blind man were lying to him about this "V-World" business, after all. It was all too outlandish to be true, right? But then what was all this? None of it made any sense.

"Funny," Galen said, taking a swig of something he kept at his work station, "I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Really?"

"We get the same faces now, over and over and over. It's been so long since I've seen a new face. I would definitely remember if I'd seen you. And yet somehow you seem familiar. Weird, huh?"

"Just never made it down to this part of the ship, I guess. It is a ship, right? Which ship is it?"

"Which ship?" Galen laughed and took another drink. "You're in worse shape than I thought, if you don't even know what ship you're on. You're lucky you made it out here before she's decommissioned. This whole deck you see out here? See all that construction? You know what that's going to be?"

Daniel thought for a moment.

"A gift shop?"

Galen stared at Daniel, then took another drink.

"A frakking gift shop."

He shook his head.

"Bad way for a battlestar to go out, right?"

Daniel nodded and for a moment he thought he could keep himself from asking the question. But no, he had to ask.

"What's a battlestar?"

The chief spit out some of his drink.

"You're serious?"

Daniel shrugged.

"Godsdammit, kid, what assback farm on Aerilon were you stuck on? You've never heard of the fleet? Atlantia? Pegasus? Valkyrie?"

Daniel shook his head. He had to admit he was kind of enjoying this. Getting a rise out of his father was usually not this easy. Incredulity was a characteristic the older version of Galen no longer possessed. Maybe he really had seen everything.

"You're on the Galactica. We are the only thing that stands between the 12 Colonies and the Cylons owning your frakking ass. Get that straight right off the bat."

Wait. Now Daniel was thoroughly confused. Hadn't Zoe clearly said that he was a Cylon? The world's first? So there were more of them? How?

"So let me guess. Now you're gonna try to tell me you've never heard of a Cylon, right?"

"No, no, of course, I mean, yeah, yeah," Daniel said. "I mean I'm one, right?"

Galen's jaw set. Daniel laughed uncomfortably. He picked up Galen's drink and sniffed it, then set it down again.

"What are you talking about?"

A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Daniel smiled like an idiot.

"I'm a Cylon. I know, it's crazy, right? I think maybe we're both Cylons. Or something, I don't know."

Daniel reached for the drink again and took a sip this time. Galen slapped it out of his hand and glared at him.

"Chief!"

A young Asian woman in what looked like a dark blue officer's uniform called Daniel's father from across the bay.

"Can you take a look at my bird for a second?"

Galen stood slowly, still glaring at Daniel.

"Are you frakking with me? The Cylons killed my grandparents on Gemenon. They nearly destroyed the 12 colonies until we finally kicked their chrome asses back to Cylon space. Are you saying – are you saying they look human now?"

"Chief!" the Asian officer shouted again, more urgently. "Can I have a second?"

"Yes sir, lieutenant, sir!"

He crossed in front of Daniel to the officer, leaving Daniel wondering what he should say to course correct this conversation. The younger version of his father was more of a hothead than he was used to. He was definitely looking to kick some Cylon ass. Daniel didn't want to stand in his way.

The chief finished his conversation with the lieutenant – to Daniel it looked like some kind of lover's quarrel – and he motioned for Daniel to follow him. Galen pushed a button and a door opened up. He motioned for Daniel to step through. Daniel readily obliged. He was ready to take an elevator to some other level, like on Star Trek. Anywhere but here. The glass door shut behind him.

Galen continued to glare at him through the glass. A red light began to flash. An alarm sounded.

"After my grandparents died, my father became a priest. My mother became an oracle," said Galen.

"They told me you would come one day," he said.

Daniel was starting to get a bit concerned. He felt a flush of cold air enter the chamber.

"We have a special way of welcoming Cylons aboard the Galactica," said Galen, his finger hovering over the flashing red button.

"I'm your son!" Daniel screamed through the glass.

"Nice try," said Galen. "I shoot blanks."

Daniel felt the floor drop out from under his feet and his heart melt into black ice as he flushed into the bottomless nothing of space.


	15. Chapter 14

Fire.

He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? What was burning? Daniel gasped for air, but all in his throat, nothing but a fiery furnace, packed with solenite… Boraton Mist, he needed his Boraton Mist! Where was his inhaler?

He saw it, just above his line of sight, grasped by a terrible blue hand. Just past that, a toothy grin, shrouded by massive, gnarled horns. He tried to scream, but it caught in his throat, which was in the vise-like grip of the demon. Another dream or V-world episode or whatever? Hadn't he just awakened from being thrust out an airlock? Was he just hopping from dream to dream now? Where was reality? Terra Firma? Where had all the air gone? Just one breath, it was all he needed, but the clamp came down harder.

He reached his foot over and kicked his lamp, which shorted out with a poomf! as the ceramic shattered. In a flash, his father was in the room.

"What is it? What happened?"

Daniel inhaled all at once, sucking in the whole room with one gulp. He was still wrestling, but with just his covers now. The blue, horned demon thing was gone. It had vanished, leaving nothing but the vague singed smell of the shorted-out lamp.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Galen handed Daniel the inhaler. He sucked it down his pipe and slowly unclenched his jaw.

"You didn't see it?

"See what?"

Daniel thought for a moment. He couldn't describe what he had seen, and didn't know that he even wanted to.

"It was a – just another dream, I guess. Something trying to – to smother me."

"Looks like we might need that doctor appointment sooner rather than later," Galen said. "Lucky for you, they had a cancellation. They're squeezing you in tomorrow."

"When?"

"First thing in the morning."

Daniel didn't want to go back to sleep. What he'd seen, dream or not, had scared the motherfrakking shit out of him.

"What time is it now?"

"I don't know. 4:30?"

"Can we go get some pancakes or something?"

"Pancakes? Sssssure. Sure, yeah, ok, let's go get pancakes. Just give me a second."


	16. Chapter 15

Finding pancakes at 4:30 in the morning isn't as easy as you might think, especially in a town the size of Larson (population 47, 973). But after rattling along the bypass chasing flickering neon lights for the better part of an hour in Galen's old Ford, they happened upon a greasetrap suitable to the occasion. The waitress threw out a dour expression even more worn than her throwback pink uniform. The table was sticky and the menus laminated. Perfect.

All the normal chitchat was out of the question. When a blue, horned demon tries to smother you in your bedroom, talking about jobs, haircuts, and video games seems a lot less compelling. So they sat in silence and poked at their pancakes. Daniel ordered a doublestack of buttermilk, Galen got blueberry. Daniel managed to hold his shit together until the waitress asked him what seemed, on the face of it, a simple question.

"You want peaches with that?"

"What's that?"

"Peaches."

"Peaches?"

"Honey, we serve peaches as a kind of side or dessert with your pancakes. But some folks don't want the peaches, so we got blueberries, apple slices, pears. But peaches is what you might call the default option."

Daniel looked at her. He put down his laminated menu with photographs of sausage links.

"All right."

"So you want 'em or not?"

Daniel looked at his father. Was it his father? He guessed not. Based on what he had seen these last few days, he was nearly convinced this man sitting across the table from him was not, in fact, his father. And the poem he was suddenly remembering so vividly was, in all likelihood, one he had never read, even though he recalled with firm exactitude reading it aloud in Mrs. Eberhard's 11th grade literature class. The part about ragged claws scuttling along the bottom of the silent sea floor stuck with him. Only there was no Mrs. Eberhard, apparently. There was no school. There was no father picking him up from basketball practice. These memories were all manufactured. If that was even a thing. Was it possible? If so, was there even a poet named T.S. Eliot? Daniel couldn't be certain. Everything was up for grabs.

Dare he eat the peach?

Dare he disturb the universe?

He thought about it. Apples were tasty.

But in the end, he ordered the frakking peaches.

"Galen. I need to ask you something."

His father stopped eating.

"Did you just call me Galen?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Galen wiped at the syrup matting his tangle of a grey beard. His napkin wasn't up to the task.

"OK, shoot. What's bothering you?"

"What's bothering me. What's bothering me? Where do I start? There's the girl in purple who karate chopped me in the alley the other day, we could talk about that. Or we could discuss your dog tags, that have Sumerian or proto-Indo-European something on them, or whatever the fuck. Or we could talk about the dream I just had where you threw me out of a fucking airlock. Or how about the blue demon on my bedroom just now, the one with the horns? I'd just love to discuss that one. Or the blind man who was best buddies with Will Shakespeare? But let's start with something simple. Let's start with this. What does the name _Galactica_ mean to you?"

The peaches arrived. Daniel looked at them. They weren't peaches at all. He knew what peaches looked like. These were pears.

"I ordered the peaches."

"We're out of peaches, hon. You want me to bring you the apples instead?"

"No, this is fine. Thank you. May I have some syrup, too, please? Can you warm it up?"

"Sure, hon. You want more coffee, sir?"

Galen nodded.

"Sure."

She looked them over, dropped the cup of pears with an air of smug professionalism, and left them again. Daniel noticed for the first time that, even though she was too old for him, her ass was pretty damn sweet. Her wondered if that was a natural reaction, or a bit of crass programming code. Did it matter?

Daniel took a pear slice into his mouth. If everything was programmed, how was he supposed to know what a pear was supposed to taste like? Was this a good pear? He couldn't trust his memories. What else to go by? And why the hell should he eat pears if he was nothing more than a robot? Robots ate pears? Since when? He glared at Galen. Galen sipped the last of his coffee.

"I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

"Galactica. Battlestar Galactica."

Galen sipped the last of his coffee and neatly set the cup neatly down on his saucer with the satisfying sound of ceramic hitting ceramic.

"Is that like the Micronauts or Star Trek or something?"

Daniel looked at his father like a patient etherized on the table, measuring out his life with coffee spoons.

He nodded politely as the waitress delivered the coffee, filling up both their cups.

"OK, that's exactly response I expected. But you know what? You want to know what I think? Here's what I think." Daniel downed three swallows of his refreshed coffee. "I think you know. I think maybe this girl Zoe or Irene or whatever and this blind dude sitting in the kitchen downtown know something. Something you're not telling me."

"Would you please calm down and be a little more quiet?"

"I'll calm down when—"

"Please, just – _shhh_ \- calm down. Seriously."

"I'll calm down when you're honest with me for once!" Daniel pushed the coffee, slapping it across the table. This would have been that moment when everyone in the restaurant suddenly stops what they are doing and looks over at them with faint concern and curiosity. Only Galen and Daniel were the only ones in the restaurant, so that didn't happen. The waitress did bounce over with a hot rag, though, and began to wipe. Daniel found it oddly sensual. He wanted to slug Galen for programming him to feel that way. And for programming him to want to slug him. _The music from a farther room._

"You want the check?"

"Sure."

Galen gathered up his thoughts and put them neatly in his dirty trucker cap, like folding an old bill into his wallet.

"Look, son, I know you're having a tough time lately. But I wish you'd listen to yourself. You're just not making any sense."

Daniel felt like crying. He felt like a little pussy.

"You think I don't know that? That's what's driving me crazy. Help me make some sense out of all of this. I can't do it. Help me. I'm asking you to help me, Dad. Please help me. Please. I need you to help me. I need you to help me."

He really was crying now. Shit.

"All right. Shh. Okay."

His father stood and hugged him. He patted him on the shoulder.

"Let's go to the doctor. Let's get you some help. All right?"

He placed a large, worn hand on the side of Daniel's face. Daniel nodded.

"Let me finish my pancakes first, though. I'm still waiting on my syrup. How long does it take to microwave a goddamn little cup of syrup? Miss!"


	17. Chapter 16

Daniel thought it best, for the sake of his own sanity, to try to convince himself, to the best of his ability, knowing what he now knew, that he was not, in fact, a robot.

This would no doubt please the Quack. And, truthfully, it pleased Daniel, too. After all, he certainly _felt_ like a real person. His memories seemed real. And the things Zoe and the old blind man had told him sounded ludicrous. But then there were all the dreams he couldn't explain away. But what were dreams, really? Lots of people had bizarre dreams. Certainly didn't make them robots. Maybe he was crazy after all, and the doctor would quickly see that, and he could prescribe some pills or something, and that would be that. He hoped that was true. It would be the best possible outcome. Then he could go on living his sad little self-pitying existence and piddle around with motorcycles or job hunting or whatever. Maybe not exciting, but it was a nice, quiet, mostly enjoyable vida.

The waiting room was a little out of date – there were still some _Boy's Life_ and _Highlights_ magazines in the rack – but otherwise unremarkable. A faint smell of lemon hung in the air. Daniel tried not to cough. (Did robots cough? Why?)

His father went in first. He and the doctor had a whispered discussion for a few minutes, then Daniel was quietly waved into the office. The doctor looked German to Daniel. He didn't know why he thought that. He didn't have a German accent or anything. Maybe Daniel was working off some stereotype he had about psychiatrists. Was this man even a psychiatrist, or was he some other kind of doctor? He hadn't thought to ask his father about that.

There was a picture of Thomas Edison on the wall. That was a bad sign. You were either an Edison guy or a Tesla guy. You couldn't be both. Daniel most definitely considered himself a Tesla man.

The doctor shook Daniel's hand and nodded to Galen, who left the room and shut the door. Daniel and the doctor both sat down. They exchanged some pleasantries about schools, girls, etc. Now it was time for the questions. Daniel had always been curious about what types of interrogatories one tossed out to determine whether the person sitting across the room was loco or not. Might be good to jot a few down for later reference. You never knew who you might run into.

"So," the doctor said, leaning a little farther back into his chair than could possibly be comfortable. The leather made an oily, squeaky sound.

"It's your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet. How do you react?"

Daniel thought for a moment. Strange question to start off with. The doctor looked overly serious for a just a second, then started to bubble over, like he was exploding from within. He burst out with laughter so suddenly that Daniel jumped a little.

"Bahhhh! Sorry. I'm sorry," he said, wiping his eyes and slapping his knee. Did people even still do that? Daniel felt something warm on his cheek. Some of the doctor's ejected phlegm. He swiped it away without saying anything.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. That's the first question from the Voight-Kampff test."

Voight-Kampff. Of course. Blade Runner. The test to determine whether or not someone was a robot. Clever way to start a professional diagnosis session. Asshole.

Daniel smiled and nodded, wiping his face again, just to make sure he'd removed all the spittle.

"You know, from the movie? Blade Runner? You ever seen it? Harrison Ford thinks he's a robot?"

"Yeah, I've seen Blade Runner."

"Right, right. Great movie, right? So many versions. I'm sorry. It's not a funny situation. I understand. It's okay," the man said, regaining his composure and leaning back into the chair again. More oily squeaks. Daniel noticed the air conditioning was just a little moldy smelling. The man adjusted his spectacles.

"All right then. Woo. Ok…. Let's start for real, then. All right."

If cigars were still allowed in offices like this, the man probably would have taken a long drag on one, then stubbed it out into his ashtray. So he wiped his hand across his craggy forehead instead.

"Do you often feel sad or irritable?"

"Like now? I'm a little irritable, sure."

"I mean generally."

"Generally irritable or generally sad?"

"Either / or. It is often that you feel this way?"

Daniel considered it.

"No, not often. Definitely not sad. Not really."

The doctor wrote something down. It took much too long, considering Daniel's brief answer. He licked his thumb and turned a page in his writing pad. He looked up at Daniel and gave him a creepy smile.

"Have you lost interest in activities you once enjoyed?"

"Like what activities?"

"Just any activities."

Daniel shrugged.

"Some of them seem less important to me now," he said.

He wanted to tell the old man, "No, I jack off just as frequently as ever," but that seemed inappropriate. Plus, it wasn't even true.

"Have you noticed changes in your weight or appetite?"

"I don't know. I just ate a lot of pancakes before I came over here."

The doctor nodded and continued to scribble. He had to be playing tic-tac-toe with himself or drawing something because there was no way he was writing down what Daniel was saying.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Daniel was a little thrown off by the question.

"Is this part of the -?"

"No, no. It's not part of the psychiatric evaluation. I just wondered if you might be thirsty. We have root beer, ginger ale, Diet RC?"

Daniel could honestly say he had never been presented with such obscure drink choices. Was Diet RC even a thing? He almost wanted to try it just to see if the doctor was bluffing. But he couldn't stand diet drinks, so not worth the risk. Better go with the ginger ale.

The doctor put down his pad. Daniel wanted to pick it up and look at it. So. Very. Badly.

Instead he looked around the room. It looked strangely sterile. Like maybe it hadn't been a psychiatrist's office for long. More like a dock worker's union office lounge or something. Something too industrial about it. It smelled like sawdust. Not your typical psychiatrist's office fragrance.

That was nothing compared to the smell of his ginger ale. Damp and sweet, with the faint hint of rotting paper towels. Maybe it had been sitting for too long. Daniel drank it anyway. He was thirsty, after all. The smell of sawdust always made him thirsty.

And that's the last thing he remembered.


	18. Chapter 17

McGoobly Goo. Goobly goobly goo. McGoobly goo goo. Ahhh yeeeeeeah… planes, plane sound, jet plane, Bennie… zzzzsssssssssseeeeeoh _1, a 2, a 3, a 1-ah._ Light, hurts my eyes, hurts. McGoobly goobly goobly goobly. Daddy, _where are we?_ McGoobly. Daddy? Goo goo gub. My nasally nosily noisy nose. Nasal cavity. Nose. My goooobly nosity nose. Myyyyy nose. My nasal, anal, nasal. Throbbing. What time is it?

"I'm here, Daniel. We're going home."

Voice. His father's voice. Not father. His Master's Voice. RCA. Dumb dog. Who's the dog?

I am the dog. I'm the dog.

McGoobly Goo.

Fuck, his nose hurt. What did they do to him?

Why was it dark outside? Wasn't it a morning appointment?

Appointment. He'd had a doctor's appointment.

The ginger ale. _The fucking ginger ale._

He reached over to his father. He tried to speak. He wasn't sure anything was coming out right. He was sure it wasn't.

"My nose."

Galen nodded.

"I know. You're fine. Just try to relax, now."

Daniel looked out the window. He didn't recognize anything on this stretch of road. No billboards. No nothing.

"Where are we going?" Daniel tried to enunciate; but with his slurred speech, it sounded more like, "Wrrrgink?"

"Don't talk, Daniel. We're fine. Everything is fine now. You're safe. Try to get some sleep."

Galen opened the glove box. He took out a container.

"Here. Take these."

He placed two pills in Daniel's hand. He closed Daniel's hand around them. Daniel glared at Galen for about two seconds, then calmly rolled down the window and tossed them to the roadside. Galen shook his head.

"You're gonna have to trust me, Daniel."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you more when your head is a little more clear. You wouldn't understand it now, anyway. Just trust me. You are fine. And you'd do a lot better if you'd just take a little direction for a change."

"Likegnkdcter?"

"Yes, like going to the doctor. That was an important step for us. I'll tell you all about it when you're sober."

The whoosh of the white stripes on the road made Daniel feel like he was riding in the Millennium Falcon, flying into hyperspace. It would have been a cool high if he weren't so pissed about it.

They passed a goat crossing sign. Where the hell were they?

"Whiirdehailrrrwee?"

No response. His father kept his eyes on the road and his hands clenched to the wheel. He kept looking into the rearview mirror anxiously, like he was expecting a monster to pop out of the truck bed any minute.

Maybe it was just the mental suggestion of seeing his father so anxious, but within a minute Daniel was certain he heard a buzzing overhead. A helicopter?

"What's that?"

"Nothing. You're just hallucinating. It will wear off. Best thing to do is sleep right through it."

But the sound did not abate. And it wasn't a helicopter. It was a chopper. Sounded like short pipes. The bike pressed up behind them, beaming its light annoyingly into Galen's mirrors.

"Someoneno?"

Galen shook his head and adjusted his mirror.

"Wherrrwe going?" Daniel asked, more lucidly this time.

"Somewhere where you'll be safe."

"Why am I?"

Galen furrowed his brow, adjusting his rearview again.

"What?"

"WhyamI … not safe?"

Seemed like a reasonable question to Daniel. He got no answer. Just more glances into the mirror.

"Why am I not safe, Dad?"

"You are safe. Just try not to worry. I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Why am I like this? What did they do to me?"

Galen kept driving, pretending like he didn't hear the question.

Daniel stared at Galen long enough to realize that he wasn't going to answer. Then gave the steering wheel a good yank, veering them into ditch. The chopper took the opportunity to pass them, thundering into the darkness. Galen ambled the truck onto the shoulder of the road and cut off the engine.

Daniel could plainly see now that they were in the middle of the desert.

"Daniel. I wish you would just trust me, go to sleep, and this will all be over in a few hours."

"You know what that sounds like? That sounds like what they tell the Jews as they're putting them into the rail cars. What are you talking about? What will be over? What!"

Galen sighed and lifted his hands from the wheel. He stared out into the blank desert dark.

"There are some people. Some people who have found you. I never meant for them to, but they have found you. And they want to take you from me. But I'm not going to let them. Do you understand? We have to get you somewhere safe. Where these people won't get to you."

Daniel began to cough. Galen hovered over him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You all right?"

Daniel looked down to his fingers. Blood. He was coughing up blood. And he didn't even think to grab his inhaler, either. Shit.

"Dad. Galen. Am I … am I a robot? A…. a Cylon?"

Galen sat back in his seat. He started the truck up again and looked into the mirror, easing out onto the highway.

"Where are you hearing these things, son? Who's talking to you? Is it in your dreams?"

"No. Not in my dreams."

"Cylons? Battlestar—what did you call it?"

"Galactica."

Galen snorted.

"That has to be your dreams, Daniel. That's just about the most ridiculous name for a battleship I've ever heard."

"They aren't dreams. They're something else. I think you know that. And some of what I'm hearing isn't from those dreams, anyway."

"Maybe you don't know the difference anymore."

"Who was that psychiatrist? He wasn't a psychiatrist at all, was he? Who was he? What did you tell him to do to me?"

Galen put on his blinker.

"This conversation is over. Please take your pills and just trust me. All right? Can you do that? Please? Don't you know me? I'm your father, Daniel. This will all be over soon. We can go back to leading a regular life with nobody bothering us."

Bullshit. So much bullshit. Goat crossing or no goat crossing, Daniel had to get the hell out of this vehicle and …. and his plan didn't go much beyond that. Just get out of the fucking vehicle and away from all the lies.

Daniel was pretty sure that, even drugged as he was, he could outrun Galen. He thought of just jumping from a moving vehicle like they did in the movies, but that would likely either kill him or hurt very, very badly. And it wasn't even really necessary.

"I've got to pee."

"Right now? We're in the middle of nowhere. Can't you wait to get where we're going?"

"I need to pee right now."

Galen reached down to the floor and pulled out a bottle. He unscrewed the cap.

"Use that."

"I need to do the other thing."

"You know I don't have any toilet paper."

"I'll find a goat."


	19. Chapter 18

Galen careened off the road and slammed his stick into park.

"Five minutes."

Crickets or frogs? Bats? Lizards? What lived in the desert, anyway? Daniel didn't know what he was hearing and didn't care. He just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Galen's rattletrap rust bucket as possible. He didn't even know which way was east or west. Some robot he was. Couldn't they have built in some kind of GPS as part of his basic programming package? If they could install that shit in a phone, why not in a fully functioning human being replica?

 _Fail._

Also, a built-in water reserve would have been nice.

 _Fail._

Or how about making a model that needed no water or food at all? Or a way to shut off the hunger and thirst switches internally?

 _Fail, fail, fail._

Daniel wished he'd been consulted in the specs. This was bullshit.

Galen obviously hadn't thought these things through. It's not like he didn't have a couple of hundred thousand years to ruminate and perfect.

But then again, who was he to judge? Here Daniel was, out in the middle of the desert. No water, no food, no phone. Great frakking plan. What now?

He knew he had to get away from Galen, and make sure he didn't arrive at whatever their destination was. That could only be bad news. In the moonlight, Daniel thought he could make out the vague outline of a rock outcropping. Having no better idea, he decided to head for that. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The outcropping might be useful shelter to wait out a storm. Then again, maybe that would make him too easy to find? At least he could use it to get some perspective on the landscape and monitor what Galen was doing back at the road. If he was still at the road, that is.

Daniel scrambled up the embankment the best he could in the dark, trying not to kill himself along the way. Could he even be killed? He felt pain, that was for sure, and exhaustion, and fear. Didn't snakes live in the desert, on outcroppings like this one? Was that a rattle shaking in the grass? Best to keep moving and tread softly.

When he finally reached what appeared to be the summit, Daniel peered down into the valley. He could still make out his father's headlamps. He hadn't budged. Daniel thought he could see some flickering, as if his father or someone were walking back and forth in front of the headlights, but he couldn't be sure. He thought he could hear a voice, but it was so distant he couldn't make out what it was shouting. Probably curse words, he thought.

Daniel collapsed into the grit, trying to catch his breath for a moment. He craned his neck up, breathing in the vast expanse of sky. The desert wasn't good for much, but it was excellent for looking at a star-soaked canopy. He wondered where his father was from, if all these stories were true. Which region of the sky? _My father, the alien_. Hard to fathom. Sounded like a bad 60s TV show. But then again, as scary as the idea was, he had to admit it was also kind of …

He heard a scraping sound behind him. Two identical sounds, in rapid succession. Not your usual desert background noise. (Not that he knew what usual desert noises were, but something definitely felt off.)

A waft of sulfurous desert air enfolded him, reeking of roadkill and locusts. But it was the rhythmic, heavy breathing that really rattled him. Didn't mountain lions live in rock outcroppings like these? Bears? Demon goats?

In spite of his better judgment, Daniel turned around.

Demon goat, as it turned out, wasn't too far off the mark. It was the purple-blue horror from his bedroom. The one he had convinced himself was only a dream. It looked much larger out here in the desert moonlight. Its teeth seemed much more yellow.

The beast didn't give him much time to look. Dream or not, it closed its sinewy claws around him and lifted him into the desert sky.


End file.
